EXCLUSIVE: THE MIGUNA DOSSIER

It’s been an interesting political week. In so many ways we have been lucky because we have had so many distractions such that we have not been treated to the weekly drivel spewed by entities like PNU and ODM. In fact, I’m thinking one reason why the media so relentlessly followed the Nancy Baraza story was so that they wouldn’t have to find out which party William Ruto had migrated to that particular week. I was hoping the ‘gun incident’ would have been more dramatic. That way we would have missed the whole election and focused on whether or not the Deputy CJ should have worn a ski mask and also robbed the guard because she didn’t wanna be felt up.

 Ok so while we are on the topic, I figure the whole issue about having her resign is hogwash. We live in a free country. What kind of world are we in if a woman isn’t allowed to go gangsta on another woman for patting her? It would be chaos. Utter anarchy. I want my kids to grow up knowing it’s cool to put a toothpick in their mouth, turn a gun sideways, wear a durag, grab their crotch and rep their hood.(I’ve seen the CCTV footage. That’s how it went down)

But the man that managed to steal the spotlight from all this was one Miguna Miguna. The man so controversial you have to say his name twice. Statistics in the last week have shown that there were 3425 suicides among the luo community who watched the interview and didn’t feel arrogant enough to live. (Can we please have a moment of silence!...Shhh in the back.This isn’t funny!) The nation is in split about whether Raila took someone else to the prom after promising to go with Miguna or he slept with his date. Either way, there is a dossier and one of our moles got an advance copy. Yes. We have moles. And rats. And other rodents. Point is we have the scoop.

GUIDE TO SURVIVING JANUARY

My holiday season wasn't that great. (Thanks for asking). I spent it looking at a bottle of some very questionable liquid while singing along to the lyrics of songs only heard in serious chic flicks. *Cue the water works* (All by myselffffffff....don't wanna be all by myselffffff....anymore) *sniffs*. Suffice to say it was an odd time of the year for me. Don't be afraid though, I'm seeing a very qualified shrink who is also helping me with this really weird habit I've developed lately. I would tell you but then you would never look at me the same again. lets just say it involves squirrels and a ridiculous need for speed. And two French journalists. And tonnes of oil. I fear i have said too much.

Actual reenactment of me sitting in the office working!

Onwards though. I'm not a fan of the holidays. The genesis of this loathing began twelve years ago. I was thirty five, muscular and had just graduated from Arm Wrestling School. It was a time of happiness and big forearms.*dissolving into fuzzy flashback* Actually it's pretty simple. I grew up watching random kids shows that taught me that Santa only goes to visit good white kids because we don't have chimneys. From then on I vowed to track him down and kill him and his little elves. Anyway while I find Christmas totally pointless, the holiday that takes the cake has to be New Year.


For real. What's up with that? Yay! It's the first of January! Wow this feels like de javu. I wonder when this happened again.  Last freaking year. Same thing happened. This is exactly how my countdown went. It's an actual reenactment. So step back in case you are scared of blood.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six (Really hope the Mayans were right) five, four, three, two, one. Then I closed by eyes tight and started waiting for that tsunami from the movie 2012. Nothing. Then I noticed my watch was ten minutes fast. So while I was safely on the other side, I still had to wait for the stragglers to catch up. Trust Kenyans to be late for a year. The clock strikes midnight (again) and everyone starts going crazy. Kissing here. Hugging there. Groping the wrong butt. (Dude I saw you touch me) And then I'm like congratulations. It's January. You're all screwed!